Contrition
by forsaken x
Summary: Students return to Hogwarts after the war to attend a preparation course for their final exams, but something's up with Draco. Creature!Fic. EWE. Harry/Draco. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**

The Hogwarts' Express, however familiar it seemed at first, felt extraordinarily different. It felt crowded, although it was emptier than Draco had ever seen it. He had boarded a deserted carriage, and seated himself in a compartment. He felt the steam engine drag heavily along the track, and listened as one of the compartment doors in the carriage whined noisily on its, evidently broken, hinges. Time crawled by slowly, and with each passing minute, Draco started slipping further into his thoughts. He imagined how, a mere day ago, this very compartment, and the rest of the train, had been filled with Hogwarts students, changing into their robes, talking excitedly to each other, and buying sweets off the trolley. There was another twinge of regret, a flare of envy, and the familiar sense of hopelessness that ached in his stomach and crept over his skin. Then, with a shudder and a deep breath, he regained his composure and tucked away the feelings that were betraying him. _Only twelve weeks,_ he thought. It had been a mantra that he had repeated in his head for the last six days: "Only twelve weeks. Only twelve weeks. Only…"

"…_twelve week N.E.W.T.s preparation course at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There is a dormitory set up for the students returning for this course, separate from the other houses. Satisfactory completion, including appropriate behaviour and attendance, is a part of your parole terms. I trust that I do not need to once again explain to you the severity of the consequences you will face for breaking parole, Mr. Malfoy?"_

"_No, sir."_

"_Very well. You will board the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross Station on September the second; the day after all regularly scheduled students have arrived, at five o'clock in the evening. Are your instructions understood, Mr. Malfoy?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

He should have been relieved. He wouldn't go to Azkaban like his father. He wouldn't have his wand snapped in half, ensuring that he would be forced to live like a Squib. He and his mother walked out of the Wizengamot that day with their heads held high, even as reporters shouted loaded questions at them, even as the wizarding community looked upon them with disgust. But that was Narcissa Malfoy: graceful, even in defeat. Draco had strived to mimic her posture as they walked toward the Ministry's atrium, even though he had never more so wanted to hide his face.

The Dark Mark on his arm was now faded grey, but it seemed to always glare menacingly up at him, insistently reminding him that he will be ostracized for all his life, and will probably be hated even in his death. The Manor felt like a deserted warzone. Within the walls of his childhood home he had seen more death and torture than he previously could have imagined. He had felt the limits of his own body's tolerance for pain pushed further than he could have thought possible, and he had returned the gesture to more people than he would care to admit. The nights between his Wizengamot hearing and the trip to King's Cross Station were mostly sleepless, but he would rather be kept awake by the phantom cries of anguish that could still be heard from the cellar, than to return to Hogwarts with his former classmates.

Did Potter and his Gryffindor cheerleaders know that he was only returning because he had no other option? Did they know he would be there at all? Draco had boarded the train wearing a disillusionment charm, and luckily only passed a few students from Ravenclaw on his way to the backmost carriage, but they would soon see him when they arrived at Hogwarts, which would be in only a few minutes. He would be sharing a bloody dormitory with them, as if it wasn't already bad enough that he had to suffer through classes together.

Draco thought of Potter again, for what was probably the thousandth time in the past hour alone. There was an image that was seared into his mind's eye ever since the battle at Hogwarts: Potter covered in dirt and blood, standing victoriously over the dead corpse of The Dark Lord. After the body had fallen to the floor, before Potter was encircled by the crowd, he looked at Draco, and their eyes met briefly. What happened after that had troubled Draco relentlessly. After their eyes met, it seemed like everything else in the Great Hall was engulfed by night, and Potter stood out, almost luminously, amongst blurry and darkened figures. Draco felt an ache of longing like he had never felt before, his stomach twisted in knots and the hair on his arms stiffened. He wanted to push through the crowd and wrap his arms around Potter the way that a faceless figure in the crowd was doing. He wanted to heal the cuts and bruises on Potter's body. He wanted to fall to his knees at Potter's feet and beg for forgiveness… Then Draco lost sight of him within the crowd and all those mad urges vanished. Draco felt his mother's arm around his shoulder as he once again saw the faces of the people in the room.

He had not seen Potter since, although he was told that he had testified on both his and his mother's behalf at their trial. The testimony was likely the reason as to why he was on the Hogwarts' Express, rather than cowering from a dementor in Azkaban. Potter had saved his life over and over again, without remorse, and Draco didn't have the slightest idea _why_. The gratitude he felt was often overshadowed by a massive feeling of being unworthy.

Draco was watching the rain through the train's window, thinking anxiously about what Potter would say, if anything, when they saw each other. When a sudden crack of lightening followed by a crash of thunder made Draco jump and lose his train of thought, he noticed that the steam engine was slowing down. Anxiety gripped him and he pulled his small suitcase closer to him as he felt the train coming to a stop. _Only twelve weeks._

oOo

After arriving at the entrance gate to Hogwarts Castle, Harry was the first to climb out of the carriage he had shared with Hermione, Ron, and Neville. There were two other carriages in front of theirs, pulled by thestreals, which carried the rest of the students who were attending the N.E.W.T.s preparation course. One carriage held Dean, and the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati. The front carriage held Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Draco Malfoy. Draco had done a brilliant job of making sure to get off the train before everyone else, climb into the first carriage, and not turn around the entire way to the castle. Harry did, however, notice him hesitate before boarding the carriage, looking at the thestreals. Of course he could see them now; they all could.

The rain had stopped right before they reached the gates. The air smelled earthy and Harry took a deep breath, filling his lungs; he knew that it was different, but it still felt like coming home.

"Do you reckon they'll let us use the Quidditch pitch?" asked Ron.

"I don't see why not," said Harry, inexplicably staring at the back of Draco's head; the rain had made his white-blond hair look darker. He wanted Draco to turn around, to look at them and not be a coward. He couldn't keep his back to them forever.

"Ron, you won't have time to play Quidditch!" said Hermione. "We have only three months to learn a year's worth of material for our N.E.W.T.s. We'll need all of our time to study!"

"Oh, come on, 'Mione," said Ron. "We'll be fine, and even if we fail it's not like it matters all that much."

"Of course it matters, Ron!" said Hermione.

"I didn't mean it like that! I just meant, well, after everything it's not as if we'd be denied jobs, will we?"

The gates opened, and Professor McGonagall, who was now Headmistress, waved them all forward. She greeted them each individually, before asking everyone to follow her into the castle.

"Your dormitory is on the third floor," said Professor McGonagall as they entered the castle. "You will have the choice to dine in the Great Hall with the other students, or you may request a house-elf to bring your meals to your common room, which has been equipped with a small dining room. Your first lesson will be between nine o'clock in the morning and twelve o'clock in the afternoon daily, with either myself or Professor Flitwick instructing. Your second lesson will be from four o'clock in the afternoon to seven o'clock in the evening with either Professor Slughorn or Professor Sprout. You will have Saturday evenings and the full day of Sunday off. The four of us have volunteered to try to educate you on all of the subjects you will be tested on, despite our specialized fields. You have no curfew, and you may leave the castle at any time you wish. This is, essentially, an adult education program, and it will be quite different than when you last attended."

Professor McGonagall explained the importance of studying and how she hoped they would prioritize their time. She also told Ron, who was very relieved to hear it, that as long as no House Team was using the Quidditch pitch, they were free to. When they reached their dormitory, she told them all that supper would be served in their room in one hour. She bid them all goodnight, and then made her way to the stairs.

They stood outside the door looking at each other, except for Draco, who seemed that he might have been fascinated by his shoes, for he never looked up. Neville spoke first.

"This is bizarre," he said. "Well, shall we?"

Neville pulled the door open and, one by one, they filed inside. Draco had made no move to follow, and Harry waited back for everyone else to go in first, the door slamming closed behind them. When he and Draco were the last ones to remain in the corridor, Draco finally looked up and met Harry's eyes.

Draco's grey eyes widened immediately and he drew in a sharp breath. His head jerked back down to stare at the floor, his shoulders trembling. Harry had known that this would be difficult for him, but he didn't expect him to look so... frightened. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but Harry took a tentative step towards Draco and said, in a voice that was low and laced with what sounded like concern, "Look, I'm not going to- I don't want to fight. I know you have to be here, I know that you… Er- let's just make the best of it, okay?"

Draco nodded his head fractionally, but made no attempt to look back up at Harry. So, Harry pulled open the door, let himself inside, and held it open for Draco to follow.

There were six rooms, four for pairs and two of them fit for one person. The Patil twins shared one, as did Dean and Neville, Terry and Michael, and Hermione and Ron. Harry had his own bedroom, as did Draco. Harry knew the reason he had his own room was out of respect, as they thought he deserved the privacy. Draco had his own because no one would have wanted to share with him.

After the bedrooms were sorted out, Draco went into his and shut the door without a word to anyone. When dinner was brought to their common room and laid out on the dining table, Harry had knocked twice on Draco's door to tell him, but he got no response, and Draco never came out to eat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were awake and in the common room the latest that night, with Ron and Hermione retiring to their room first, and Harry extinguishing the flame in the fireplace before going to his own. On his way to his bedroom, he passed Draco's and, inexplicably, paused and listened at the door for a moment. He could hear nothing from the other side, so he just continued down the corridor to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him and falling heavily into his bed, where he got the best sleep he had had in weeks.

oOo

Draco woke up just after five in the morning. He rolled over, burying his face in his pillow with every intention of going back to sleep, but his stomach protested, grumbling loudly with hunger. He didn't dare leave his room the night before, not after what had happened with Potter. Draco couldn't explain it. Potter didn't even _do_ anything and Draco wanted nothing more than to fist his hands into Potter's cloak, yanking him towards him, and crash his mouth against Potter's. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Those were not the usual desires that Draco harboured for him, he was more accustomed to seeing him and wanting to feel his fist connect with Potter's face. That had long since passed ever since Draco had grabbed hold of Potter's sweaty hand and was pulled onto the back of his broom, but when did the absence of hatred transform itself into wanting to kiss him? Sure, Draco had had more than few images of Potter creep into his late night fantasies, but those were more along the lines of getting Potter onto his knees while Draco shoved his cock into his mouth, in a demonstration of power over Potter. That was one thing, but lately his Potter-related fantasies seemed to be bordering on _romantic_ interest.

After their awkward encounter outside of the dormitory, where Draco averted his eyes from Potter in a desperate attempt to control his absurd desires, Draco had hidden in his bedroom, relieved to be alone. He didn't even care that everyone hated him enough to actually give him his own bedroom so no one would be forced to share with him. He had gotten changed and into bed early, not getting up even when Potter had knocked on his door and told him that dinner had been brought to their kitchen. Draco had lain awake, despite desperately trying to fall asleep, with thoughts of Potter relentlessly bouncing around in his head. Draco thought about his hair, and how it always looked as if he had just been thoroughly shagged. When he thought about how he wanted to lace his fingers through the dark strands while sliding his cock into Potter's slack, wet mouth in order to mess his hair up further, Draco had felt a spike of arousal. He had tried to ignore it at first, before finally thrusting his hand into his pyjama bottoms and taking hold of his painfully stiff and neglected cock. With only a few strokes, while imagining Potter's green eyes looking up at him while Draco was being swallowed down his throat, he was coming all over his hand and the front of his pyjamas, his back arching off the mattress and his mouth open in a silent scream. While remembering it this morning, Draco felt his cock twitch with interest, but he quickly distracted himself by getting dressed; he refused to wank over Harry fucking Potter twice in eight hours.

Draco crept into the kitchen, thankful none of the others were yet awake, and got himself a cup of tea and some toast. He had originally planned on going straight back to his room, eating in there and staying hidden until it was time to go to their first class, but when he saw the windowsill in the common room covered in pillows, and large window overlooking the grounds, he couldn't resist going to sit down there. He told himself he would retreat back to his room right after eating, but ended up staying, and watching the sun rise. He only disappeared back to his room when Granger came out of hers, half asleep with her face framed by incredibly frizzy hair, and she went into the bathroom without so much as noticing him.

Draco delved into his studies, focusing on little else during the first two days. He ate alone in his room, after everyone else already finished. He showered late at night after mostly everyone had already retired to their rooms. Sometimes he could hear Potter talking in the room next to his, and Draco would catch himself trying to make out exactly what he was saying and who he was talking to. It was their first Sunday, and Potter and the rest of them had left to go play Quidditch, leaving Draco alone in the dormitory, wishing he were playing too. He was sitting on the sofa for the first time, with his Potions book and study guide, when he was startled by Granger sitting on the floor across from him. He had thought he was alone, but she must not have gone with them. He had been just about to get up and leave the room when she thrust a parchment towards him.

"I used questions from previous year's exams for practice. You can use it too, if you want."

Draco looked at her, unsure. "Why?" he asked carefully.

"It's better to study with someone."

Draco swallowed drily, watching Granger as she opened up her book and began reading. Draco put his own study guide, which was made similarly to hers, on the floor beside her without saying anything, and they studied together in silence until Draco heard the door to their dormitory being pulled open. He gathered his things and headed back to his room, wondering if Granger would mention anything to Potter about it.

The next day Draco found himself studying with Granger again, even discussing some of the material. When it had fallen quiet between them for a while, Draco, not daring to look up, blurted out suddenly, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He hadn't even meant to apologize. He _did_ feel badly about a lot of things that he had done during the war, but he never did anything to her. His aunt had, but _he_ hadn't. _Well, unless you counted…_ "For calling you a Mudblood," he said, hardly above a whisper. "For my aunt."

Before Granger had the chance to reply, the common room was filling with the other students. Draco gathered his things quickly, intending to bolt into his room, but Potter and the Weasel were standing next to the couch in a matter of seconds.

"Studying?" asked Potter amicably, looking at Draco as he said it.

"Yes," answered Granger. "And Ronald, _you_ should be studying. You have to get Exceeds Expectations or you won't get into the Auror Training Program."

"Hermione," cut in Potter. "I think they might be willing to make a few exceptions."

_Of course,_ thought Draco. _All the Weasel needs to do is ride Potter's coat tails and he will be offered any dream job he wants without even meeting the necessary requirements. If we could all be so lucky. Why are they even here?_

"Harry's right," said Weasley. "Besides, it's really nice out. Let's go for a walk, 'Mione."

Granger gave in, standing up and taking Weasley's hand in hers while saying, "Okay, but a _short_ walk. Then we come back and study."

Potter sat down on the couch next to Draco as Granger and Weasley walked away, and Draco tensed.

"You should play tomorrow," said Potter. "Don't tell him I said so, but Corner is a dead awful Seeker."

"Easier to win, then," said Draco. Was Potter really inviting him to play Quidditch with them?_ No,_ thought Draco. _He just wants you to accept so he can laugh at you for thinking that he'd actually want to do _anything_ with you._

"_Too_ easy," said Potter. "At least it would feel more like a proper game if I were playing against you."

Draco turned to Potter and scowled before standing up and walking away. He was in no mood to be ridiculed by Potter of all people and he wouldn't dare give in and fight with him; he would be thrown out of Hogwarts in a matter of minutes.

"I was only being nice, Malfoy," said Potter, but Draco kept walking down to his room. Potter called after him, "If you'd rather stay locked up in your room, wallowing in self-pity and pretending we don't exist, then fine!"

Draco shut the door to his room, breathing heavily, his throat uncomfortably tight. Potter really _was_ inviting him to play with them and Draco had fucked up everything, as usual. He laid down in bed and fought against the urge he had to cry into his pillow.

oOo

Harry woke up just before six in the morning on Monday. After fifteen minutes of lying in bed trying to fall back asleep, he got up and dressed. When he walked into the common room for something to eat, he noticed Draco curled up on the bench of the windowsill, asleep with a cup held in his hand. Draco was still in his pyjamas, his hair disheveled and his sharp features relaxed. Harry walked over to Draco and gently took the cup from his hand, placing it on a shelf of the bookcase beside the window. Looking at his peaceful sleeping form, Harry had the urge to tuck a loose strand of blond hair out of Draco's eyes; and he did so carefully, hoping Draco wouldn't wake. Harry took in his loose-fitting pyjamas, bare feet, and the strip of white skin where his shirt was riding up his stomach. Draco, looking vulnerable in sleep, was beautiful. It might not be the most masculine of terms, but it was the only one that encompassed everything from his pale eyelashes to the way, even in sleep, Draco kept one hand covered over the faded Dark Mark on his forearm.

Harry wanted to reconcile some of the animosity between him and his classmate. Hermione told him about Draco's sudden apology, and wondered if he thought that Harry didn't deserve one of his own. He went and grabbed a roll and made two cups of tea; one for him and one for Draco. He set his own, along with the days copy of the _Prophet_, down on the table by the couch, and brought one to Draco. He nudged him gently, and Draco jerked away, blinking rapidly at Harry.

"Here," said Harry. "I made you a cup of tea."

Draco gaped at him for a moment, before hesitantly reaching out and taking the steaming cup from Harry while muttering, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Harry. He went and sat on the couch to drink his own and read the paper.

Harry felt Draco watching him, and it made him nervous. He hoped that Draco was working up courage to give him the apology that he was owed, but as the minutes ticked past, it seemed less likely. Harry dropped the _Prophet_ onto the couch and looked at Draco, glaring.

Draco quickly looked away, biting his lip. "What is it with you?" asked Harry angrily. "You look like you're about to jump out of your own skin. You ignore everyone except Hermione, but that's only when no one else is around. Do you not want to be seen with her?"

"No! It's-"

"You're really something else, you know. I sent Kreacher to return your wand, and you never even thanked me for it!"

"I haven't even-"

"I made a point to talk to you on our first day back. I invited you to play Quidditch and you just ignored me!" Harry made his way over to where Draco was perched on the windowsill, looking down at him.

"No, I was-"

"I even testified on your behalf at your bloody trial. You apologize to my best friend, but not to me. After everything! After I pulled you out of that fire-"

"You ask me a hundred questions and won't even let me fucking answer!" Draco stood up then and they were mere inches apart glaring at each other.

"Go on, then!" yelled Harry. He noticed then that the other students had come out of their bedrooms to watch the altercation. Draco made to walk away, but Harry stopped him. "Where are you going? You're such a fucking coward, Malfoy!"

"_I KNOW!"_ yelled Draco, and Harry stepped back. "I'm a coward! I thought I was better than all of you and now I'm paying for it!" Draco was looking back between Harry and the others. "I've done terrible things; I don't expect you to forget it because Merlin knows that I can't. I shouldn't have been on the wrong side of the war. I shouldn't have let Death Eaters into the school. I shouldn't have tried to kill Dumbledore, almost killing Weasley and that other girl… _I didn't want to! _I didn't want to hurt anyone! I didn't want the Dark Lord to win and I'm glad you killed him, even if my father _is_ in Azkaban. He deserves it and so do I and it's only because of you that I'm not there too. It's because of you that I'm even alive and _I'M SORRY!"_

Draco stormed off past Harry and the other students and went into his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

oOo

Monday went by painfully slowly, and by the time their last lesson had ended, all Draco could think about was flying. He had been tense and just wanted to work out the stress on his broom in the open air. When he had left his bedroom, broom in hand, he was crushed to see all the other students had their own brooms. Defeated, Draco had turned and went back into his room. He had thrown his broom on the floor and fell heavily onto his bed, his head in his hands. He was fighting back tears of frustration when there had been a knock on his door.

He stood and opened it, only to see Potter standing in the doorway. "Come on, Draco," he had said. "Come play with us."

"No, it's fine."

"You had your broom. I know you want to, so just come. _Please_."

And that's how Draco had found himself on the Quidditch Pitch with the other N.E.W.T.s Prep students. Even Granger had played, and on his team. She was awful at it, but Draco found that he didn't mind. Corner had relented and, grudgingly, let Draco play Seeker, but only after Potter had argued it with Corner. Potter caught the Snitch, of course, but Draco was just happy to be up in the air again. They decided to play a second game, since the first ended so quickly, and a few of the players were switching teams.

Draco couldn't keep his eyes off Potter, even now that they were on the ground and he wasn't chasing him through the air. He watched as Dean Thomas walked over and playfully punched Potter on the arm, causing Draco to prickle with anger._ He wasn't really punching him, _Draco told himself, while watching Potter hit him back. Then Dean Thomas pushed Potter, making him fall roughly onto the ground.

A surge of anger and an instinctual protectiveness came over him immediately and, without thinking, he raised his hand up to Dean Thomas. He felt an awful burning in his palm before watching a ball of fire, no bigger than a snitch; whirl through the air and toward Thomas, who threw himself out of the way. The flaming sphere hit the ground and burned away the patch of grass it landed on. Draco, stunned, looked down at his wand, which was resting at his side, unmoving. His other hand, however, was severely burned and shaking. Draco heard the others yelling at him, but their voices sounded muffled and distant. He was still looking down at his own injured hand as his vision started to darken before it felt as if the ground was being pulled out from under him, then everything was black, and he was falling, and falling, and falling.

_Draco saw himself trying, unsuccessfully, to impress a green-eyed boy in robe shop. He saw Potter in the Great Hall, laughing with Weasley and Granger, until he noticed Draco looking at him and his smile faded and eyes narrowed in his direction. He saw Potter on a broom in a room engulfed by threatening flames, but Potter was reaching down to grab Draco's hand, to pull him to safety…_

"…it didn't come from his wand! _I saw it._ It came from his _hand_."

Draco was lying on a bed, feeling weak and disoriented. He knew that the hushed whisper had come from Granger, but he couldn't find the strength to open his eyes. He felt himself drifting off to sleep again before he felt a wave of warm comfort, energizing his body. Draco's eyes flew open at once and scanned the room; everything was dark and there were a few shadowed figures standing close to him. Coming from what looked like a doorway, and walking closer to him, was Potter. Draco could see him perfectly; he was vivid and bright, surrounded by darkness. He looked, to Draco, just as he had after defeating the Dark Lord; as if he was the only thing in the world worth seeing. Potter walked up to the bed Draco laid in, and with each step he took, Draco felt stronger.

"You alright, Malfoy?" asked Potter, once he was beside him.

Draco moved with a startling speed that made Potter gasp and try to step back. Draco had, in one swift movement, sat up and wrapped both his hands around Potter's wrists, while still staring determinedly into his green eyes. The reaction was immediate; Draco felt magic tingling over his own skin, his blood felt hot and his heart was hammering away with renewed effort. Everything else was brightening and swimming into focus and he was now aware that he was in the hospital wing, and that Granger and Weasley were standing behind Potter, both looking alarmed. Potter's eyes were wide as he was trying to pull away, but Draco held his grip tight. He searched Potter's face hungrily, reveling in the feeling of touching him. He wanted- no, he _needed_, more contact. He wanted to rip both of their clothes off and press his body flush against Potter's. He wanted to press his lips against his and thrust his tongue into his mouth, he wanted to rake his nails down his back and sink his teeth into his neck, and _claim him_. Draco absently noticed that he was hard and that there was a low hum coming from his own throat; he was _purring_.

It was over too quickly; Weasley had pried Draco's fingers off of Potter's wrists and Potter took a few steps backwards, rubbing at his wrists and looking bewildered. Had Draco really done that? Had he actually been purring, _like a cat_? Before Weasley interfered, he had been about to pull Potter onto him... to do what, exactly? Kiss him? Take his clothes off and _bite_ him? _Oh, gods, what is happening to me, _thought Draco, mortified.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at, Malfoy?" yelled Weasley, pointing an accusing finger at Draco's face.

"I- I don't know! I'm sorry, alright? I must have… I must have still been asleep- dreaming, or… something," Draco answered, lamely.

Granger was looking at him skeptically, but remained silent.

"It's okay," said Potter. "That was… strange, but it's fine."

_Strange? _Why did that make Draco feel so insecure? Of course it was strange. "What happened?" asked Draco.

"You just grabbed Harry! It sounded like you were… purring," said Weasley, his lip curling.

"Not now, you idiot!" snarled Draco. "On the Quidditch pitch."

"You cast a ball of fire at Dean," said Potter. "It barely missed him, and then you fainted."

"Oh," said Draco. "It was an accident though. I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, we figured," said Granger. "You looked shocked that you did it, I think that's what made you faint. You also burned yourself."

Draco looked down and inspected his hand, which was now fully healed.

"We all decided not to tell the Professors that you conjured it to throw at Dean because you would probably be expelled. It _did_ look like an accident, after all."

Draco looked away from Granger, thankful, although embarrassed.

"But," continued Granger, "the thing is, the fire didn't come from-"

She was cut off by Madame Pomfrey, who had just come out of her office. "Good! You're awake. I've healed your hand but I think it would be best if you stayed here overnight," she said.

"But I'm fine!" said Draco. "Really, I am."

Madame Pomfrey took his hand and looked it over, and Draco let his gaze wander back to Potter, who was looking pointedly away from Draco, his expression unreadable. He wanted Potter to leave the hospital wing as much as he wanted him to wrap his arms around Draco. He wanted Potter to stop looking away from him, but did not want him to see Draco's embarrassment. He wanted to hit him and to run his fingers through his messy hair all at the same time; and Draco was sure that the raging conflict of his desires would likely drive him mad in a matter of minutes.

"All right, Mr. Malfoy," said Madame Pomfrey. "I suppose it would be alright if you went back to your dormitory."


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and my apologies for how long this installment took to get posted. I promise to update more regularly._

**Part 2**

"Alden was one of my students, a Slug Club member in his first year…"

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"He perfected the potion just two years after graduating from Hogwarts. When he received his Order of Merlin, he announced that I was the one who had inspired him to become a Potioneer…"

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Harry's attention was drifting between Professor Slughorn's ramblings, Ron's incessant tapping on their shared desk, and Draco Malfoy, who was seated at the desk in front of him. Draco seemed to be just as interested in Slughorn's lecture as the rest of them, drawing swirls and shapes in the margin of his parchment.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Ronald, would you quit it?" hissed Hermione from behind them.

Ron flinched before turning around and giving Hermione an apologetic smile, ceasing the tapping.

"This potion was on the two previous years' exams…"

Harry watched Draco's quill as it added a lightning bolt to the parchment's menagerie of stars, clocks, and Snitches. Harry absently reached up and traced the scar on his forehead.

"Choose a partner and begin brewing your Invigoration Draught. The instructions can be found on page thirty."

Ron jumped up quickly, startling Harry, and went to sit with Hermione. Harry watched as the others in the room started moving about and pairing up. He saw Neville waving at him, trying to get his attention, but Harry inexplicably turned away, watching Draco scribble over the lightning bolt he had just drawn. Harry leaned forward and poked Draco between his shoulder blades with the edge of his quill. He turned around in his seat to scowl at Harry.

"_What?"_

"Partner up with me," said Harry.

Draco looked around the room before looking back at Harry, his brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Why not?"

Draco arched an eyebrow before turning back around. Harry grabbed his book, stood up, and took the vacant seat beside Draco.

"I don't need a partner, Potter. I could brew this potion with my eyes closed."

"Good, then you can help me. I wasn't paying attention, and you must not have been either because Slughorn said we need to work in pairs."

Draco looked at Harry curiously before pushing his seat out and standing up.

"What's your problem, Malfoy?"

"I'm going to get a cauldron and ingredients, the necessities required in this subject. Honestly, Potter, are you certain you didn't suffer brain damage the night you received that scar?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Draco bit down on his lower lip and a pink flush rose in his cheeks. He turned away abruptly and made his way to the other side of the room.

Harry covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He could have been angry, but seeing Draco so obviously regretful of his comment was actually amusing. _Old habits die hard._

After Draco had returned and set up their cauldron they began to brew the draught in an uncomfortable silence. Harry was cutting dandelion roots while he watched Draco carefully chose six nettles before crushing them and adding them to the concoction, making the cauldron steam more heavily. The humidity was rising in the room, and Harry noticed Draco's usually impeccable hair begin to curl at the ends.

Distracted, Harry sliced through a root and into the palm of his hand. He dropped the knife onto the table, but before he could inspect the cut, Draco had grabbed his wrist and pulled Harry's hand closer to him.

"_What did you do?"_ hissed Draco while grabbing his wand. He held it over Harry's hand and whispered a healing spell. Harry watched as the cut closed, leaving no trace of injury.

"Thanks," said Harry, moving to pull his hand away, but Draco's grasp on his wrist remained tight.

"You need to be more careful," said Draco, hardly above a whisper.

Harry looked up at Draco, who was staring intently back at him. He felt Draco's thumb slide over his palm, gently caressing the spot he had just healed. The touch sent a shiver down Harry's spine and made something flutter in his stomach. He felt a blush rising in his cheeks, but he stared back at Draco determinedly. He watched, mesmerized, as the very tip of Draco's tongue grazed his lower lip and he heard the same low purring sound that Draco had made the other day in the hospital wing. It seemed as if Draco's grey eyes were becoming brighter, almost glowing. Harry felt himself moving closer to him, wanting to touch him…

Someone pointedly cleared their throat and both Draco and Harry jerked apart, breaking whatever bizarre moment they had just shared. Harry looked around dazedly, his hand still tingling where Draco had touched it.

"Harry, my boy, everything alright?" asked Slughorn, his voice laced with concern. The entire room had fallen silent and their classmates were staring at them bewilderedly. Harry didn't dare turn around to see whatever face Ron was surely making in his direction.

"Yes, sir," said Harry. "Er- I cut myself, is all. Draco healed it for me. Everything's fine."

Slughorn's gaze lingered for a moment before nodding and resuming his discussion with the Patil twins. Harry continued cutting the dandelion roots, pointedly looking away from Draco, his heart beating madly in his chest. The way Draco had looked at him had made him feel exposed and vulnerable. That, along with the gentle caress on his hand, had felt overwhelmingly intimate, however simple it was. Then there was that sound he had made, the low purr. It was almost erotic and had definitely affected Harry… in front of their entire eighth year class. Mortification was an understatement.

Harry avoided looking at Draco for the rest of class and there were hardly any more words spoken between them. Professor Slughorn declared their potion perfect and when they were dismissed, Harry gathered his things and bolted for the door.

Harry, having narrowly escaped anymore awkward moments with Draco, left the classroom only to walk into the corridor and see Ginny waiting for him.

"Harry, we need to talk."

oOo

Draco was sitting alone in the common room. It was after ten and everyone else had already gone into their bedrooms when Draco had come out and relit the fire, before curling up on the sofa. His thoughts had been troubling him ever since that evening's potions lesson. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore whatever was going on between him and Potter. Well, if he were to be honest with himself, it was a bit more one sided than that.

_Draco wanted him. _For a moment in class, it seemed that Potter wanted him too; in fact, Draco would have sworn that Potter was leaning closer to him. But then Slughorn had interrupted them and Potter didn't look at Draco again for the rest of class. To make matters worse, instead of going back to the dormitory with everyone else, he left with Weasley's sister. Draco had thought that the two of them had broken up, considering he hadn't seen them together since their return to Hogwarts. Now, Draco was staring at the fireplace feeling confused, frustrated, and _jealous_.

When the entrance to the dormitory swung open, Draco didn't need to turn around to know that it was Potter who had just come in. He could _feel_ his presence; it came in waves of too many feelings all at once: relief, desperation, arousal, guilt… _Why?_

Potter walked over to the couch and sat down heavily beside him, sighing. "Last one up?"

"It would seem so," said Draco, glancing at Potter and noticing the faint pink colour tinting his cheeks. _He's been outside._

"It's getting cold early this year," said Potter. After a moment, he added softly, "The fire feels nice."

Draco hummed in agreement, resisting the urge to slide down the sofa closer to Potter and curl up against him. _Make him warm; comfortable._

Draco chewed his lip nervously. _Honestly, Draco, cuddling? _What the hell had gotten into him?

"Ginny's getting back together with Dean," said Harry, suddenly.

"Oh?" _Why was Potter telling him this?_

"Yeah, she just told me tonight. We went out by the lake because she said she needed to talk to me. I don't know why it doesn't bother me. I figured that we would get back together after… after everything."

Draco listened intently, his gaze focused on the flames dancing in the fireplace, but he said nothing.

"We never had much of a chance to reconnect. The summer was difficult at the Burrow after losing Fred. I didn't know how to comfort her. Things started to get better, but I was avoiding being alone with her. I thought I just needed time."

Draco didn't know how to respond, so he remained quiet. For long minutes the only sound in the room was the crackling fire.

"It's never going to go back to how it was with us. Thinking about her during everything last year got me through so much, but I'm starting to wonder if that's the reason I thought I had feelings for her in the first place, a reason to get through it. I don't even know why I'm telling you all this."

"Maybe it's a good thing she's moving on," said Draco. "Now, you can do the same without feeling guilty about it."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Draco turned towards Potter to see him looking back at Draco, his expression unreadable. Draco quickly looked away, and the two of them lapsed back into silence. Each word that Draco didn't say was filling up the empty space on the sofa; they were laid like bricks, building a wall between them.

"Well, it's getting late. I should probably get some sleep," said Potter, standing up.

"Good night, Potter."

"Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry," he said with a small smile.

"I… Okay," stammered Draco.

"Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Draco stayed out by the fire for a few more minutes before extinguishing the flames and going into his own room. There, he lay in his bed staring at the wall that Harry was on the other side of, running his fingertips across the concrete between them.

oOo

The rest of Harry's week passed by uneventfully; he went to his classes, he spent time with Ron and Hermione, he played Quidditch. He watched Draco Malfoy. Not because he was suspicious of him, which was why he usually watched him, but because he found it difficult, for some reason, to take his eyes off of him if they were in the same room. He would find himself staring at the back of his head during classes, intrigued, sometimes feeling as though if Harry were to look at him for long enough, he could figure out the inner-workings of Draco's brain.

It was Saturday evening and Harry was eating a piece of toast in the common room, half-listening to Hermione discuss her post-Hogwarts career plans with Neville, which seemed to be changing day to day. Harry was startled by a door slamming down the hallway by the bedrooms, followed by Draco storming through the common room towards the door. Ron was just coming in and was nearly knocked over by Draco on his way out.

"Out of my way, Weasel," snarled Draco.

Ron came in and sat down heavily on the sofa besides Harry. "Looks like Malfoy's back to his old self," he said. "I think I liked him better when he was scared of us all, and even more so as a ferret. Oh, Hermione, Ginny is looking for you."

"Oh, I forgot I was supposed to meet her almost an hour ago!" she said before jumping up and rushing out the door.

As Ron and Neville fell into a discussion, Harry couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with Draco and where he had gone off to. He wouldn't go into the Great Hall and he couldn't have gone flying because he didn't have his broom. Had he gone to the library? Then an obvious thought struck Harry and he went into his bedroom and started rifling through his trunk. When he felt his fingers close around thick parchment, he yanked it out victoriously.

In May, he had stuffed The Marauders' Map into his trunk, where it was buried by all of his other belongings and forgotten.

"_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."_

Harry searched the map, seeing Hermione with Luna and Ginny in the Great Hall and Professor McGonagall in her office, before his eyes finally fell on Draco's label. He was walking towards the castle's entrance. _Hogsmeade_, thought Harry. He put the map away, grabbed a scarf and coat, and headed out after him.

Harry found Draco in Hogsmeade, outside of a small shop, arguing with who Harry assumed was the shopkeeper. He made his way towards the pair of them.

"I don't serve _your_ kind here."

"My galleons are just as good as anyone else's," replied Draco.

"Get away from my shop, boy, or you'll be sorry."

"What are you going to do, old man?" snarled Draco.

Just as the older man reached into his sleeve, no doubt to draw his wand, he noticed Harry approaching.

"Mr. Potter! Come in, come in. I was just taking out the trash." He scowled at Draco before looking back at Harry, beaming. "An honour it is to have you, anything you need…"

Draco watched Harry expectantly, but made no move to leave.

"Draco, what's going on?" asked Harry, ignoring the shopkeeper.

"Mr. Potter, I can assure you that he was just leaving," said the old man. "I pride myself on not letting Death Eaters shop here. It _is_ a family shop, after all. Frankly, I don't think that…"

"You won't let him into your shop?" asked Harry, incredulously.

"Your Gryffindor heroics are neither welcome nor necessary, Potter," hissed Draco from beside him.

"Of course not!" the shop keeper said, looking scandalized.

"Draco Malfoy is a friend of mine," said Harry. The word "friend" felt strange on his lips, but he paid the sensation no mind.

"I… I didn't… But…" The shop owner spluttered, but Harry was focused on Draco, who was looking back at him without gratitude and with nothing else given away in his sharp features.

"I don't want to shop here, anyway," drawled Draco before sniffing the air. "The place _smells_." With that, Draco turned on his heel and stalked away.

Harry took after him, ignoring the calls from the old man behind him. "Mr. Potter! I meant no offense!"

Harry caught up to Draco who was standing on a small bridge over a pond. In the warmer months there were usually birds lazily floating in the water, but the pond would be frozen in just a few weeks and its inhabitants had surely left to seek out a warmer climate.

Draco was idly picking at the worn wooden railing of the bridge, and when Harry approached and stood beside him, Draco didn't say anything for what felt like an hour, although it could have only been a few minutes.

"You didn't need to do that," said Draco quietly, his eyes fixed on the pond.

"Stand up for you?"

"And lie."

"Lie about what?" asked Harry before finally turning to look at Draco. "You _are_ my friend."

_Friend_. The word still felt alien to him. Why? It was what he wanted.

_Is that all? _a darker corner of his mind whispered, but Harry shushed it.

Draco laughed drily and finally looked over at Harry. The amusement fell from his features immediately. "Merlin, you're actually serious, aren't you?"

Harry shrugged and smiled. Draco didn't seem to know how to respond, so he turned back to the railing. They fell quiet for a few more minutes. Harry was cold even though he was dressed far more warmly than Draco, who didn't look cold at all.

"So what are you doing out here alone?" asked Draco.

"Er, I just wanted to take a walk."

"This isn't walking."

"I _was_ walking before I saw you. Wanker."

Draco smirked and looked back at Harry. "Well, I could walk with you," he suggested. "If you'd like, that is."

"Sure. I'd rather be walking back to the castle though, if that's alright. It's bloody freezing out here."

They walked together, talking mostly about their classes. When a particularly strong gust of wind made Draco slow his pace and shiver, Harry stopped.

"What is it?" asked Draco, frowning.

"Why are you only wearing that thin sweater? Aren't you cold?"

"It wasn't cold when I left the castle."

Harry hardly thought about it before he was taking off his scarf and holding it out for Draco.

"Very chivalrous, Potter, but I'm not your girlfriend and I don't need that," drawled Draco, and Harry blushed at the remark.

Harry ignored Draco's protesting grunt, stepping close to Draco and wrapping the scarf around his neck. He could smell Draco - _the forest after a thunderstorm_ – and feel his warm breath on his face. _Too close._

_Closer, _he thought in the farther reaches of his mind.

Harry knotted the scarf carefully before taking a small step back and looking at Draco, whose eyes were burning into his own.

_I should make a joke,_ thought Harry. But before he could open his mouth, let alone think of something to say, Draco closed the distance between them again, this time he reached out and cradled Harry's head in one cold hand. Then he was lifting Harry's face up slightly and leaning down, letting his eyes fall closed before pressing his lips firmly against Harry's.

Harry could have sworn his heart stopped dead in his chest. Draco's lips were cold and somewhat dry from the wind. The traitorous part of Harry's thoughts was exclaiming gleefully, and even his louder subconscious, which should have been horrified, was begging for more, urging him to kiss back.

But before he had the chance to, Draco stepped back abruptly. Harry thought he heard himself whimper pathetically at the loss of contact. He opened his eyes to see Draco's own wide in what was unmistakably shock and fear, like even he couldn't believe what he had done. Before Harry had the chance to collect his thoughts, Draco disapparated with a sudden _crack. _Harry stood staring at the spot Draco had just been in, with his apparently re-awakened heart working feverishly in his chest and the tips of his trembling fingers touching his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco had apparated behind a row of shops and stayed there for nearly a half an hour, trying to tell himself that he wasn't hiding. Now he was near the castle, near freezing, and possibly near mad. He had _kissed_ him. What on earth had he been thinking? Well, he hadn't been thinking at all. Harry had given Draco his scarf so he wouldn't be cold, and something warm had bloomed in Draco's chest that had nothing to do with the scarf and everything to do with the way Harry bit his lip in careful concentration, the bright green eyes fixed on him alone, and the brush of his fingertips against the back of Draco's neck…

Draco stopped walking abruptly when he heard himself purring low in his throat.

"_What the fuck?"_

Rustling leaves and an owl hooting from some nearby tree was the only response. Draco pressed his face against the wool scarf wrapped around his neck and breathed in deeply in an attempt to calm his nerves. All he could smell was Harry and it washed over Draco with an effect similar to a calming draught. Tension melted away from his muscles, his reeling thoughts ceased, and his mind became quiet.

He straightened up and continued towards the castle, deciding to worry about what had just happened once he was inside. Warm, safe _(Harry…) _and preferably with a cup of tea.

The next morning, after a restless sleep, Draco walked out of his bedroom and spotted Harry in the dining room with Weasley and Granger. Draco left the dormitory as quickly and quietly as possible, thinking about how hiding from Harry forever wasn't very likely. He was walking down the empty corridor when he heard Harry call his name from behind him.

Why is it that only he could make Draco feel like this? It was infuriating. He could feel the skin on his back prickling. Draco whirled around, pulling out his wand, and aimed it at Harry.

"_Obliviate!"_

He focused on Hogsmeade, the kiss, willing Harry to forget it. He had never attempted the spell, and wasn't entirely sure if he was performing it correctly. Harry's eyes had widened when Draco turned on him, but now he simply looked expectant. Harry sighed and closed his eyes.

Had it worked? Draco couldn't be sure. When Harry reopened his eyes, he looked around, confusion evident on his face. Draco quickly hid his wand in his sleeve.

"Er- What were we talking about?"

Draco immediately regretted his impulsion. His voice when he answered, though he tried to sound sharp, was strained on account of the lump in his throat. "Honestly, Potter, I'm fairly certain that you are equipped with a brain… have you ever thought to actually use it?"

Harry bristled, but Draco turned and stalked down the corridor before he had the chance to respond.

oOo

Harry was in Potions, sitting next to Draco, who was copying notes out of a textbook. He hardly looked at Harry since Hogsmeade… since he kissed him and then tried obliviating Harry the next morning. It hadn't worked, but Harry had pretended it had, and since then Harry had been fighting the urge to admit to faking it. He wanted to grab Draco and shout, "You kissed me! I remember!" and then snog him senseless.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling his face redden. He looked over at Draco, all sharp angles and hard lines, stormy eyes and a streak of red ink marring the milky expanse of his neck. It didn't matter that Harry remembered, Draco obviously wanted to forget it. But the question of why he kissed Harry in the first place kept creeping into his thoughts. That, and he still caught Draco looking at him. All the time.

When class was over and he was walking out the door behind Draco, the idea of asking to him to join Harry and a few others in Hogsmeade that night, although it wasn't likely Draco would accept, and then it would probably put Harry in a bad mood…

_Sod it,_ he thought. _Gryffindor courage and all that…_ "Draco-"

"Harry!"

Harry turned to see Ginny racing towards him, beaming. When Harry looked back, Draco had already disappeared into the sea of students.

"Hey, Gin." Harry had said he'd go to the Three Broomsticks with Ginny and Luna that night.

"Ready for tonight? I need to cut loose. Me and Dean broke up last night."

"Already?" Now that he thought about it, Dean had been looking put out that day.

Ginny just shrugged. "Want to come with me to find Luna?"

"Sure." Ginny hooked her arm beneath Harry's as they started to walk, and just then Harry saw Draco stopped by the classroom door, watching him sadly. Something twisted in Harry's chest and he suddenly wished that Ginny wasn't holding his arm.

oOo

Draco was _furious_. He knew his anger was a direct result of the jealousy he felt at seeing Harry with that stupid girl, and the smug, self-satisfied look on her face. When had they even gotten back together? In the past week since what he now thought of as "The Hogsmeade Incident" Draco had given up trying to deny to himself the feelings he had for Harry. How could he deny them? Draco couldn't even walk into a bloody room that had Harry in it without feeling as though he were drowning. Draco had always assumed having a romantic interest in someone was supposed to be pleasant, isn't that why so many people desired it? This was _torture_. The more Draco thought about it, and thought about how Harry likely had Ginevra Weasley pressed against a wall somewhere in Hogsmeade with his mouth on her and his hands under her shirt, the more livid Draco became. He kicked the door of his bedroom and he threw a glass at the wall to watch it shatter.

Had they slept together yet? What if Harry brought her back here tonight? What if Draco could _hear_ them through the wall between his and Harry's bedrooms? Draco would likely break down Harry's door and hex the girl into an oblivion. He heard someone walking past his room, and he threw his door open, hoping beyond hope that it would be Harry, back and alone. _Perhaps they had a row and he's left her. _Draco's disappointment only fueled his anger when he saw Longbottom walking down the corridor, holding an oversized fungus that Draco didn't recognize. Longbottom had nearly jumped out of his skin, no doubt startled by the force in which Draco had flung his door open. He stood there, gaping at Draco.

"What are you staring at, Longbottom?" Draco snarled. "GET AWAY FROM MY DOOR!"

Longbottom rushed down the corridor towards his bedroom, and Draco slammed his door shut again. He threw himself onto his bed and, lying on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, let out a muffled, frustrated scream. Suddenly, without any warning, Draco felt an agonizing pain in his back, and his yell of frustration turned into a cry of pain. He thought, for a mad moment, that Longbottom had come into his room and used the Cruciatus Curse on Draco for screaming at him. Draco felt as if the bones in his back were being torn out of his body, and it was far worse than any of the times he had suffered a Crucio.

"_Help_," Draco whispered weakly, as a scream would not come. He seemed to have lost his voice.

The pain had turned Draco's vision white. He blindly reached behind him, shaking feverishly, and touched where he thought his bones were ripped from him. He touched something that was not hard like bone at all, but soft and matted with a thick liquid. Draco brought his hand back around and struggled to regain his focus. The pain never subsided, and when Draco could clearly see that his hand was thoroughly covered in blood, he lost consciousness.

_Draco was standing on top of a desk, smoke and flames surrounding him. He was going to die. He would fall and be engulfed by the fire just as Crabbe had. He heard Granger, but couldn't see her. Was she in the flames?_

"_Ron! RON! Malfoy… Malfoy, can you hear me?"_

"_Hermione, what's- Bloody hell! What happened?"_

"_Ron, we have to get him to the hospital wing right now! Look how much blood he's lost!"_

"_Is that… Are those _wings_?"_

_He was coughing on the smoke and the heat was becoming almost unbearable. He turned around and saw, standing beside him on the desk, Harry. But, Harry didn't look frightened. In fact, he was smiling. And he was reaching out towards Draco. Did he mean to push him into the fire? He heard another familiar voice nearby; was Madame Pomfrey in the flames with Granger and Weasley? Why weren't they all screaming?_

"_It's very rare, but not unheard of. If he were full-blooded the wings would not have caused him such serious injury. They have already retracted."_

"_What can you do, Poppy?"_

"_There are potions he can take to prevent some of the more painful and difficult occurrences. I've already given him a few, just so he can heal properly before something else causes damage to his body."_

_Harry didn't push him into the fire, instead he lightly brushed some of Draco's hair off of his forehead, then his fingertips trailed along the side of Draco's face in a gentle caress, and in the same moment, the flames below them were extinguished. Draco closed his eyes and leaned into Harry's touch._

"_Rest, Draco," whispered Harry, and Draco drifted into a dreamless sleep._

oOo

Harry had made his way back to his dormitory, pleasantly light-headed from the Butterbeer he'd drunk, ready to fall into his bed. However, once he entered the common room, he was nearly knocked over by the surprise of having all of the other eighth-years rush at him, panicked and talking all at once. When Hermione had finally explained what had happened, he headed out straight for the hospital wing to check on Draco.

Madame Pomfrey had refused to tell Harry anything about what had happened, saying that it would be a breach of confidentiality, but did assure him that Draco had not been attacked in their dormitory. All Harry knew was, according to Hermione and Ron, Draco had been unconscious in his room, had lost a startling amount of blood, and had what looked like bloodied wings protruding from his shoulder blades. Harry had never heard of such a curse that made the recipient grow wings. Harry asked Madame Pomfrey if he could stay for a few minutes, and after she gave him her permission, she retired to her office.

Draco was sleeping on his stomach under a thin sheet, his head turned to the side. Harry pulled a chair beside his bed and sat down. Draco stirred slightly, but then he was breathing deep and even breaths again. His pale blond hair was disheveled, and Harry, lightly as he could manage, brushed his fringe off of his forehead. He let his fingers gently slide down the curve of his face. Draco's eyebrows were knitted together and he looked uncomfortable, even in sleep. When Draco turned his face into Harry's palm, seeming to seek it out, Harry whispered to him.

"_Rest, Draco."_

Draco seemed to relax almost instantly, and Harry smiled. Harry's eyes looked over his body, and the thin sheet covering his back; certainly, Harry would be able to see wings through it if they were there. Carefully, Harry lifted the sheet and pulled it down, so it revealed his back, only covering his waist and legs. Harry's mouth fell open when he saw, on Draco's shoulder blades, two identical wounds; long, thick slits through his flesh, as if someone had taken a knife in each hand and raked them down his back. They were mostly healed, but they still looked incredibly painful. The sight of it made Harry's heart ache. He saw a small jar of healing salve on the bedside table, which he opened before pouring out a generous amount into his hands. He slowly and gently applied it to Draco's wounds. When he was finished it seemed to have made only a very slight improvement. Harry leaned back in his chair and took Draco's hand in his. He let his eyes fall closed when he felt Draco's fingers lace through his own, and then he fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco woke up, blinking away the last remnants of a dream against the harsh sunlight. He'd dreamt that wings had sprouted from his back in a room on fire, and Potter, a force as powerful and wild as a hurricane, had touched him so gently, stroked his hair and held his hand, and Draco could still feel his fingers entwined in Harry's, warm and solid and so very- Draco's eyes snapped open- _real._ Draco breath caught when his eyes locked on the hand in his own and the unmistakable mess of black hair beside it. Harry was asleep in a chair beside him, with his head buried in the crook of his elbow, on Draco's bed.

_Not a dream then_. What the hell had happened? He remembered the searing pain, the blood… but it was hard to focus on the memory. Everything was hazy and he felt unnaturally calm, almost as if he were submerged in warm water. He experimentally dragged his thumb over Harry's and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze of his hand. Draco shifted on his stomach with the intention of rolling onto his back and sitting up, but his limbs felt heavier than his eyelids, which were falling closed of their own accord. Draco half-heartedly tried to fight against the drowsiness, but when Harry shifted and let out a small, content sigh in his sleep, Draco felt himself drifting off. _I'm being pulled into Harry's sleep. _Though the thought was his own, it made no sense to him, but before he could ponder its meaning or origin, he was asleep.

When Draco woke again he knew straight right away, without having to open his eyes to check, that Harry had gone. And with him went the surreal calm-like-water sensation. The white walls of the infirmary and dull ache in his back brought back the now-vivid memory of the previous night, which gave way to panic. Draco pushed the sheet off of him and sat up, the cool tiles on his bare feet giving him a chill, but he made himself dizzy by trying to stand too quickly, and had to sit back down, reaching for the table beside the bed and managing to knock a jar onto the floor. He felt faint and his heart was beating wildly. _Did they need to cut the wings out of me? _He reached back over his shoulder, his fingers brushing against thick, raised scar tissue. _Someone is trying to kill me._ He could scarcely breathe. _Where is Harry?_

Madame Pomfrey was suddenly beside him, pressing a phial into his hand. He drank it down without even trying to ask what it was, trusting Pomfrey, hoping desperately it was a calming draught.

The relief was instant. Draco's breathing slowed and his heartbeat steadied with the draught. Regaining composure, he regarded Pomfrey, who was now sitting in the chair across from him and wearing her usual expression that was somewhere between sympathetic and exasperated.

"Better?" she asked.

It was. He nodded. "What happened?"

She studied him carefully as if she was unsure whether or not to tell him. Or maybe she was just unsure where to begin. After what felt like an eternity but could have only been a few moments, she said, "This may all come as a bit of a shock to you."

"Merlin_, just tell me_." Pomfrey's eyebrows drew together and her lips formed a thin line. _"Please," _he added impatiently.

"You are part veela."

The words hung in the air, lingering with the chill and the ever present smell of healing salve in the infirmary. Images danced in his head, half-breed abnormalities who invited the lustful gazes of men… _didn't a Weasley marry one? _Then he let out a sardonic laugh.

_Stupid woman,_ "Veela are _women_. And even if they weren't, I am _pure-blood_." The arrogance he heard in his own voice nearly made him wince.

Pomfrey either didn't notice or decided to ignore it. "I can assure you, there _are_ male veela, although they are rarer. And with the help of a few professors, we were able to discover a not-very-well-hidden record of your true heritage, and more specifically, your mother's parentage."

"My mother's parentage," he echoed weakly.

"Your grandmother, Druella Black, had a secret affair with a veela. Unbeknownst to her husband, her youngest daughter was in fact fathered by that veela. Your mother would have never known that she had veela blood in her, though she must have been curious about the stark difference of her sisters' appearances and her own. Male and female veela are very different, you see, so she has no magical veela traits. The gene stayed dormant because she was born a girl, and instead it passed along to you. So you are indeed one quarter part veela."

His mother would have hexed Pomfrey on sight had she been there to hear this conversation. Draco half-wished she was there to do just that. _Only half…_

"It's quite tragic," she continued. "How your paternal grandfather died, that is. When your grandmother chose to cast him aside in favour of her husband, he lost his will to live, quite literally dying of a broken heart. In his final days he made a record of their relationship, detailing the withdrawal he experienced from being separated from his mate, as well as voicing his suspicion that Druella was carrying his child."

Now Draco wished he had his wand, he'd like to hex her himself. "Either he was delusional, or you are severely mistaken. I am not some filthy half-breed, I am-"

"Watch your language, young man. Also, it would do you good to watch your _temper_. The appearance of your wings, as well as the ability to throw fire from your hands, are veela powers that surface through anger."

Draco's words caught in his throat. He had nearly forgotten about the wings. What else could possibly explain that? His head was spinning; he wanted to run away, to go back to his dorm, _to find Harry-_

Draco was slammed with a realization so hard it seemed to knock the breath out of him. _Potter. _"What was that you said about a mate?" Draco asked; his voice quiet and unsteady.

"Veela mate for life," she answered.

"No, this doesn't make any sense… I see how men behave around veela women, tripping over themselves vying for their attention, desperately trying to impress them."

"Yes, veela can have that effect on people. That is, until they have found their mate. Those who have met their mate early in life may never exhibit that allure at all."

"Why would this only start happening now?" asked Draco.

"Most will start to develop and grow into their veela traits during puberty. I expect the war may have hindered your _maturity_."

Draco was almost offended before realizing Pomfrey's implication. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a blush rise in his face. "So veela choose a mate for breeding?" he asked, sounding almost hopeful. Maybe she was wrong. He certainly couldn't… _breed_ with the only person he'd ever been romantically interested in. And he had never felt any sort of attraction towards a woman before, not even when Pansy had drunkenly snogged him during fifth year, going as far as to guide his hand to her chest, only outside of her sweater, but it was quite enough. The encounter left no room for denial of his complete lack of interest in girls.

"A _soul_ mate," she clarified. How had she understood the line of thought his mind was taking? Unless… maybe she had seen him with Harry? The thought of Harry holding Draco's hand all through the night made him feel almost giddy, which was _so_ wrong, considering he had just been told that his mother was some creature's bastard and he will unwillingly sprout wings when he was angry.

"Your mate would be your lover and companion," she explained.

"How would I know who my mate is?" Draco asked, unnecessarily. Who else could it have ever been? Years ago, he was an eleven year old boy who had never had a friend that wasn't chosen for him by his father. He was an eleven year old boy in a robe shop, fumblingly trying to impress another boy; a boy who was too thin for his patched and dirty clothes, a boy whose black hair stuck up in every direction, a boy who, behind poorly-repaired glasses, had the most brilliant green eyes that Draco had ever seen. Draco had once been an eleven year old boy who had offered his hand to the green-eyed boy, who had just so happened to be _the boy who lived, _and was denied in favour of another boy whose parents would have preferred to live amongst muggles. Draco had once been an eleven year old boy who could not understand why seeing Harry Potter with his friends made him sick with jealousy that he mistook for envy.

"You would know," said Pomfrey. "You would be able to sense their presence. Being separated from them will cause you physical and emotional torment. It can be quite difficult to deal with. Some have said that in a room full of people, a veela only sees his or her mate, though that may just be a romanticized exaggeration. You will become jealous, almost to the point of possessiveness, but that subsides drastically once you and your mate have bonded."

"Bonded? You mean get married?"

"Well, in the case of most part-veela, they do marry also. The actual bonding would be between only the two of them though, during what would be the consummation of their marriage."

Draco's imagination supplied him with a vivid and highly inappropriate scene: Draco lying on top of Harry, Harry's legs wrapped around his waist. Draco was claiming him as his mate, all the while Harry was moaning beneath him, crying out and clinging to him as Draco thrust into him again and again and again… It was perfect and Draco was sure he had never wanted anything in his life more than he wanted Harry; wanted to take him and be taken and to hear Harry say that he loved Draco… Then something terrible occurred to him.

"Then, it's not real?" asked Draco in a whisper, although he was mostly talking to himself. "It's only because he's meant to be my mate."

"Not at all," answered Pomfrey. "Quite the opposite, in fact. Whoever 'he' is, he is your mate _because_ of how you feel about him."

Draco must have gone completely mad, because he was _relieved_. Relieved that what he felt for Harry was true.

"Now if your mate does not wish to bond with you, you will not suffer the same fate as your grandfather. There are potions and spells to ease the pain of that rejection, but you will never take another. Do you understand all I've told you?"

Draco's world was being pulled out like a rug from beneath him, but he nodded.

"Your wings have retracted. I've been told that the pain should subside after the first few times they protract. I want you to come to me straight away the next time they do, and if the pain and blood loss is nearly as severe as the first time, we can consider a permanent removal procedure. Unfortunately, being only part-veela, your body does not adapt as easily as it would if you were purely veela. You can go back to your dormitory but I'd like you to take the day off from your classes and get some rest. And I want you to stop in tomorrow morning, and also come to me, without hesitation, if there are any changes. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Madame Pomfrey offered Draco a small smile. "Try not to worry. Everything will get easier."

Draco seriously doubted that, but he nodded anyway. He needed to get out of there, wanting nothing more than to find Harry. He was the only one Draco wanted to talk to. But first, he had to go to the library.

oOo

_A/N: Another short chapter, but the next is well on its way. As always, thank you for the reviews._


End file.
